That Effect ¦ Keep Burning ¦ The Burning Effect
by acetamide
Summary: Bobby doesn't want to feel comfortable, but he has that effect on him ¦ John will be all right, so long as he keeps burning ¦ Bobby doesn't want the Berlin Wall between them.
1. That Effect

OK, I went to go see The Last Stand last night, and I have to say I left the cinema feeling very unsatisfied. The whole film just felt empty, as though half of the things weren't explained. One thing that annoyed me was that it was never said whether Pyro lived or died at the end. So I've taken it upon myself to write this as a missing scene. It's from Bobby's POV, and takes place just after Bobby goes to see Rogue at the end, when she takes his hand.

NOTE: mild slash undertones. But you have to have such a mind to really notice it. I think...

* * *

I close the door behind myself quietly, so as not to wake Rogue. She fell asleep as I was stroking her hair, still grasping my hand. I have a feeling that she's going to want to be touching me all the time now that she can. It's like she never realised what she didn't have until she got it, and now it's almost a revelation for her. To be able to touch someone and not fear for their safety. I suppose she'll get used to it after a time.

Walking down the corridor, I pause at one of the windows and gaze out over the grounds. Kitty and Storm are standing in front of the three gravestones, and I can't help but wonder what it is that they're thinking. It seems such a shame to bury two people when nothing of their bodies remains. It just seems… I don't know, a bit empty. I've never been good with funerals or gravestones. They've never held much meaning for me like they seem to for everybody else. I mean, just looking at Kitty and Storm proves it. They can stand there, both in silence, just staring at the headstones, and see the people that they represent, have full conversations with them inside their heads. I just see three lumps of granite with writing on.

I don't want to think about them though. Any of them. They're dead, we're not. It's as simple as that. Talking to a headstone won't change that. I turn away from the window and continue down the corridor, past the open door of Piotr's room. I spare him a nod of the head in greeting, then carry on. I don't think any of us will be quite the same after Alcatraz. We're all grown up now, we'll never be able to laugh and joke like before. It's all so banal, looking back on it.

I stop at my room, and hesitate at the closed door. I had left it open when I went to find Rogue. Turning the handle cautiously, I'm suddenly struck by just how paranoid Alcatraz has made me. Shaking my head to clear it of anxious thoughts, I push the door fully open. And decide that I have every reason to be paranoid.

John's stood looking out of the window, his back to me, his right hand twitching compulsively. _No, not John_ I remind myself. _Pyro. _He stopped being John when he got into that helicopter. I rein in the urge to freeze his hands off, because despite the rage thundering through my bones, I don't think that he would have been let in here without being interrogated first. I stare resolutely at the floor to keep from hurting him, but I have to look up when I hear him move. I've always had to watch him.

He's heard me come in, and turned around. A quick glance at his right hand proves that the mechanism for a constant source of fire has been removed, though his fingers are still flicking the empty air involuntarily. I'm not sure if that's just because of me, or if he'd be doing that anyway. I'd like to think the latter, but I'm not convinced that's the case.

For a long while we just gaze at each other. I don't know how long it lasts, but I can't take my eyes of him for some reason. He looks exhausted, his eyes dull and darkened by the fatigue. Across his left temple is a gash running from his eyebrow to just above his ear. It's blue and black around it, and I have a nasty feeling that I caused it. Indeed, there seems to be ice permanently frozen into the cut. After what seems like an eternity, but was probably less than five minutes, he looks away from me and sits down heavily on his bed. The spell is broken, and I sit down opposite him.

"You were right." He says weakly, and I almost have to strain to hear him. He sounds so bereft, so unlike himself, that I don't feel the impulse to freeze his balls off anymore. It takes me a while to organise my thoughts into any semblance of order. He has that effect on me.

"About what?" I finally ask, my voice oddly quiet, as though I'm scared to break this fragile truce in this room. I get the feeling that it won't be the same when he's confronted by the rest of the school and I'll be the only one sticking up for him. I watch as he swings his legs up onto the bed and stretches out, staring up at the ceiling, where he had painted fire onto the plaster. There were a few scorch marks where he had got bored one evening and decided to burn the ceiling for authenticity, and ended up setting off the fire alarms. The adults hadn't been particularly happy when all the children had been turfed out of bed into the snowy night, but John and I hadn't been able to stop laughing.

_Not John. Pyro._

"I never should have left."

I copy his movement and lay down properly on my own bed, and I'm struck by the comforting familiarity of the situation, us lying on our beds, talking into the evening. I have to remind myself that this isn't my John, and this isn't comfortable, but it's getting harder. He has that effect on me.

"I thought you'd been killed." I admit without thinking, and wonder why I said that. It's true though – after Magneto was turned into a human, I was ushered away onto the bridge with Kitty and Colossus by Storm as Jean started to destroy the island. Storm had gone back to see who else she could help… but Jean had been destroying nearly everybody left on the island. It was horrifying to watch. And I remember thinking at the time that Pyro didn't have to die.

"Storm got me before the Phoenix could." John… no, _Pyro_ replies edgily. "She told me to swim for shore, she'd come for me later. She said that the X-Men'd kill me if I approached them after I rained car bombs upon them."

"We probably would have done." I say sharply. "We were hardly pleased with you at the time."

"Why don't you then?"

The tone of his voice compels me to look at him, and I curse myself for never building a resistance to this boy. He's gazing at me with those dead eyes, practically asking me to kill him. I look away, because I can't bear to think of him dead, let alone at my hands. He has that effect on me.

"Because I don't want to."

"You seemed pretty pissed off with me on Alcatraz."

"Well do you blame me?" I explode, leaping from my bed to stand over him. He flinches and raises his right hand, his fingers twitching maniacally. I can't control the rage and despair roiling through my skin, but neither do I want to hurt my best friend – so I whip around and freeze the door to its hinges. And the wall. In fact, I freeze every wall and the ceiling. That seems to drain most of the anger out of me, so I look down at John. He's shivering. I suppose the freezing temperatures don't really suit a fire-based mutant. He's giving me a terrified look, and I feel bad now, so I yank open one of my bedside table drawers, and take out one of his old lighters, handing it to him.

"Why do you have this?" he asks quizzically as he gently melts the room. I lay back down on my bed as the soft flame ripples over the ceiling, perfectly controlled.

"It's been in there for over a year, since you got other one." I reply simply, and he doesn't press the matter. Instead, he puts the lighter back in my drawer. I expected him to keep it, stow it in his pocket to constantly flick around until he could build a new contraption. I think he's trying to show me that he's not going to blow me up in my sleep. As much as I hate to admit it, the plan is so far working. He has that effect on me.

"I don't suppose you know what Class you are, do you?" he asks me curiously, and if I reach back into my memory, I can remember Storm telling us all what we were a few weeks ago. Funny, it seems like so much longer.

"I'm a Class 3. Why?"

"Just wondering." John replies with a shrug, in a rather evasive tone. I turn my head and raise an eyebrow at him. He flushes and turns away.

"I know you're a Class 4, John." I say wryly. "Storm told me."

He blinks at me, and I realise that I called him John. I guess Magneto and Mystique would have only ever called him Pyro.

"Well then how come I couldn't beat you?" he asks, frustrated, sitting upright.

"Because you can't control your power."

"Yes I can!" he objects, and I can see his hand twitching out of the corner of my eye.

"No you can't. But you will be able to. Storm will teach you how."

"I don't… want… her to teach me." John says through gritted teeth. I turn my head to look at him. He's staring at the door. "Can't you teach me?"

"Not as well as Storm can."

"You'll do." He says simply, lying back down on his bed. We lay in silence, and this time it is meant to be comfortable, because this is still John, this isn't Pyro. I think my ice froze Pyro over and now we're going to have to start again with John. It shouldn't be too hard. He is my best friend, after all.

"Hey, John… I've been told that I tend to make the room temperature drop when I'm having nightmares. Just… don't get too cold, OK?" I ask him nervously, as I feel my eyes drifting shut. No doubt I will have nightmares for at least another week. I've certainly had them for the past few nights. One particular one froze the whole corridor.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." John replies. I look over at him, and he's smiling. It's the first genuine smile I've seen on his face for a year. Funny, I never thought that I'd be the one to put it there. Just looking at him smiling make my body temperature inch a few degrees closer to normal, as opposed to ten degrees below it. I smile back, and my chest feels warm.

He has that effect on me.

* * *

It's my first X-Men fic, so please don't get angry if they felt a bit OOC.

Comments very welcome and much appreciated.

smokey


	2. Keep Burning

This is kind of the sequel to "That Effect" though originally it wasn't going to exist. However, since I got 12 very positive reviews in the 12 hours after I posted it, most asking me to continue, I thought I would.

It's told from John's POV, the day after "That Effect". The same warning for this as for "TE" - ie. mild slash undertones, if you squint and tilt your head.

* * *

He's eating ice cream again. 

I've been watching him for the last half an hour, slowly making his way through a large tub of vanilla ice cream. I've caught him at it loads of times before; it almost seems to be a comfort food. When he's miserable or excited or bored or anything, he eats ice cream. Well, I suppose it does fit.

He doesn't know that I'm even awake, I don't think. He's sat down on the grounds, on a bench in front of the three gravestones. He looks awkward sat there, almost like he's not really sure what to do. I've never been very good with funerals myself. I want to go and talk to him, but he seems to be having a moment with the graves, so I'm settling with just watching out of the rather ornate window.

When I woke up, true to his word Bobby had frozen the room. I'm not sure if he physically can't destroy his own ice, or if he doesn't want to, but it was still there and he'd gone. So I melted it off, and opened the door, and then had to melt a few metres either side of the room. It's weird that I didn't feel it at all during the night. Usually, I'm really sensitive to cold temperatures. That's what you get for being fire-based.

Classes start in ten minutes. I don't really want to go, because I know that I'll be given really shifty looks at best, and maybe even attacked at worst. I can't really blame them though. I did betray them and try to kill them with blazing cars. Have to admit though, it gave me a chance to really use my power. That's not something that I'm often allowed to do. I don't think the adults could cope with the amount of destruction that I tended to leave behind me. I'm not sure that they wanted to, either.

I can hear people coming down the corridor, around the corner, so I quickly return to our room and shut the door. I don't want to face the masses by myself, without my special lighter on my wrist. Looking up at the scorch marks above my bed, I'm not sure if I should take that lighter that Bobby produced last night. Storm refused to give my automatic one back last night, she said that she didn't trust me with it, but I don't think she would be too bothered if I had one on me, so long as I didn't flash it around. I walk over to the drawers and take it out, pushing it into my pocket. I hope Bobby won't be too bothered.

I dress quickly, and wash even quicker, wanting to meet Bobby before we have to go to the conservatory for History. I'd feel a lot safer if he was with me. Then again, so long as I have my lighter I shouldn't be in too much danger. I gather my old books in my arms, and hurry to glance out of the window. He's still sat there, the tub of ice cream lying empty and abandoned on the bench beside him. He's turning something over and over in his hands – I can see the sunlight glinting off it – but I'm too far away to see what it is. More people are approaching, so I make my way quickly to the stairs and descend them.

There are students milling around, and one adult with wings that I don't recognise. I hesitate a few steps from the bottom, struck by the irrational fear that every single one of them is about to turn on me. But they don't even seem to notice me. Someone comes down the stairs from behind me, bumping me as they leap the last few steps, and jolts me out of my frozen stance. Keeping my head down, I march through the crowds and through the main doors, breaking into a jog as I get closer to Bobby. It's then that I realise he's not staring at the graves, but at the pine trees behind them.

"Lessons in five minutes." I remind him, and with a flash, the shiny thing he was playing with is in his pocket. He looks up at me, and I'm once again so glad that he hasn't starting trying to freeze my balls off. Last night came close though, when he decided to turn our room into a freezer. He looks tired and I wonder just what his nightmares are like.

"I'm coming." He replies simply, and I notice that his books are on the grass at his feet. I guess he wasn't planning on coming to get me then. A spark of annoyance flares in my stomach, and I put it out as he stands and fixes me with an inscrutable look.

"What?" I ask defensively, and realise that I probably come across looking and sounding pretty suspicious. I hope that he doesn't change his mind about me. If he does, then my only ally in this godforsaken place would be Storm, and she's reluctantly accepting me anyway. But all he does is shrug, and this time my hand inches towards my pocket. I force it away. I don't want him to be all secretive. I think he notices my irritation, and sighs, picking up his books.

"I was just wondering if you're ready to go back."

I'm aware that I'm scowling, but I can't wipe the look off my face. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I flush, trying to hide my emotions. Damn it, how does he manage to interpret everything I do perfectly? When did he get to know me so well?

"I'll be fine." I retort, and I know that I sound childish, but there doesn't seem like much point in stopping any more. He can read me like a book, so I don't care. Just so long as he reads correctly, I'll be fine. I always was when he was there.

We set off walking back to the school, in complete silence. I can feel that we both want to talk, but I know that whatever we talk about will ultimately lead back to my betrayal. And I don't want him to think about that, because then he'll abandon me. I just want to keep this truce until I'm not hated by everyone else in this school, and then I can talk to him, because then he might understand better and even if he doesn't, it wont be the end of the world. Or so I keep telling myself.

This time, as I walk into the corridor, everyone notices me. Well, I think it's more that they greet Bobby and then see the traitor walking nervously beside him. Listening to the calls around me, it sounds as though they really respect Bobby. Probably for Alcatraz. After all, six of them managed to defeat our whole army.

No. It's not _our_ army anymore. It was his. And now it's gone.

"Who the hell let the traitor back in?" I hear someone hiss, and involuntarily move closer to Bobby as he greets people. I can hear others whispering the same sort of thing, and my vision starts to tunnel in. Their voices and accusations are pressing in on me, enclosing me, and as someone brushes past me, I snap. With a speed that I didn't know I possessed, my books are dropped on the floor, my hand is in my pocket, my fingers have flicked the lighter open and there's a fireball roiling in my hand. The people scream and move away, clutching each other, expecting a violent outburst from the traitor. I find myself backed up against the wall of the corridor, breathing rapidly, boiling hot sweat running down my face and vaporising as it runs over my scorching skin and my eyes flicking backwards and forwards so fast that I'm getting a headache. The people around me fade to a blur, and my head goes dizzy as my legs try to buckle and I recognise a panic attack encroaching.

Then suddenly all the burning in my mind is gone, replaced by a cooling calm and my vision clears. And all I can see is Bobby standing in front of me, his hand clamped around my wrist, anchoring me as I gather my thoughts. My left hand goes slack and the lighter drops to the floor with an ominous clunk.

"John?"

I turn to the source of the voice, and see Rogue staring at me, aghast. She moves towards me, hand reaching out, and I instinctively flinch away. Or I would have done, if Bobby hadn't been standing there. As it is, I just bump into him. Then I flinch away from him, too. His body is so cold… it's like he's a walking icicle. I mean, I know that his normal temperature is way below normal, and mine is way above normal, due to our mutations, but I'd never actually experienced it before. Wait, that's a lie. I experienced it on Alcatraz where Bobby turned completely to ice and knocked me out.

God, it was so _cold_.

So cold, and now it's getting cold and hot at the same time and hell it hurt so much when Rogue touched me, that was cold too, all the fire, all my life and spirit and soul being sucked out of me until I'd been sucked dry and freezing and then –

"John!"

My eyes flash open, and Bobby's kneeling beside me on the floor, and I can feel the stares of everyone around me burning into me but for some reason I don't care, I couldn't give a shit, because so long as I'm burning I'll be all right. Bobby reaches out and takes my arm, pulling me to my feet, and his hand's so cold against my bare skin that it burns and that's OK. Rogue's looking at me like I'm some sort of horrific creature that's surfaced from her deepest nightmares. I can hear Bobby telling me not to worry, she's human, and she can't hurt me. I realise that I'm sneering at her just a bit too late to straighten my face.

Why anyone would want to be stripped of their powers is a mystery to me. I should have known, though. When I saw Bobby outside the Cure clinic, I didn't honestly think that he wanted it for himself, no matter what I said to him. But I said those things because that was how it was meant to be. I had betrayed him, and we couldn't be civil to each other. I was loyal to Magneto, and not to him, and yet when I could have attacked him I didn't. Something about him always holds me back, always makes me reconsider and in that split second when I look into those eyes that are too blue not to be unnerving, the world always comes crashing down about me. He seems to have that effect on me.

I can hear the murmuring of the crowd, and I'm sure that the sounds are actually much louder than they seem to be, but the only thing I can hear clearly is Bobby's voice telling me in a gentle voice to calm down as he leads me through the corridor to the conservatory. I'm not watching where I'm going, but somehow I'm not falling over, just staring straight ahead as we walk into the glass-roofed room. He sits me down at a desk, and then seats himself next to me. He must have picked up my books and lighter from the floor of the corridor when I collapsed, because he pushes them toward me. I pocket the lighter and shake my head. It's clearing, thank god, and I do feel calmer.

Storm's standing in front of the blackboard, though I'm not sure when she appeared. She's glaring at me, and I guess that she must have seen my little episode out in the corridor. Which probably just confirmed her previous beliefs that I'm unstable and unsafe around others. I look away, look up out of the conservatory roof as she starts to talk about World Wars. Looking up towards the kaleidoscope of colours twisting and contorting the sky, I don't feel as vulnerable anymore. Even though the whispers and stares from the people sitting around us aren't burning anymore, even though they're cold and detached and making me feel uncomfortable, Bobby's hand is still wrapped around my wrist and it's still burning.

And I'm all right.

* * *

As I said, "That Effect" was only meant to be a one-shot, but after writing this I felt compelled to at least finish the arc, so there'll be another, final part of this in the next few days. Why yes, I do feel ridiculously prolific today... so if you want to read the 3rd part of the arc, you'd better put this on your alerts. 

Comments very welcome and much appreciated.

smokey


	3. The Burning Effect

OK, I was perhaps being pessimistic when I suggested a few days. Mind, you're lucky to get this. I had a powercut and I hadn't saved it. Luckily, my computer recovered it. For which I will be eternally grateful.

This is the 3rd and _final_ part of the arc, The Burning Effect, told from Bobby's POV, taking place the evening of that morning after, i.e. the evening of part 2.

Same warning as before, mild slash if you look at it with cross-eyes. Or apparently not.

* * *

Watching him get his X-suit on, fingers trembling with alleged fear, I'm struck once again by just how much John has changed over the past six months. A year ago, he'd be arrogant boasting about how he'd be the saviour of the Danger Room session. As it was, now he just looked scared. I walk over to him to help him get the suit on. My hands aren't shaking like his are.

The leather's stiff and unyielding and another reminder that he's never done this before because he's never fought with us before. Because he wasn't with us before. He's so nervous that he's radiating heat, it's coming off him in waves and when I'm done helping him and look over his shoulder at Kitty, her face is shimmering surreally and it looks as though she's crying.

My thoughts are interrupted by Storm as she comes over to us both holding something out to John. It's his contraption. He takes it hesitantly, and I wonder if he thinks its some sort of test. Does he take it, and be thought desperate for his fuel? Or does he pretend to be strong and give it back? It looks as though he's uncertain whether or not to take it – he's touching it, as though he wants it, but not enough that Storm can let go and it won't drop to the floor and act like the Berlin Wall between them.

"Take it, John," She says firmly, and he does, obeying her to prove that he can. He tries to hard to strap it onto his wrist, but his hands are still trembling and all he manages to do is accidentally flick the lighter. A hiss of flame spits out, and then is gone, but just the sight of it makes Piotr and Kitty flinch back and Logan extend his claws. I feel a pang of disappointment at their lack of trust, even though it's completely justifiable, and can see it reflected in John alongside the despair as he clumsily drops the wrist-lighter and it clatters on the ground. He's still shaking, so I pick it up for him and take his right hand to strap it on. Weird, as soon as I touch his skin he seems to relax, as though my touch comforts him. I would have thought that my skin would be too cold for him to bear.

We walk through the doors into the Danger Room and they shut behind us, plunging us into darkness until with a flash the simulation is set up before us and I can hear the others muttering, but I feel quite confident with this one. The area we're in is glacial, covered in ice and snow and it's cold and I couldn't feel more at home. A quick glance at John shows that he doesn't really feel the same way. His eyes are flitting back and forth madly as though searching desperately for an escape route that he knows doesn't exist but he'll try and find anyway. Because he's stubborn like that, he always was but I'm not sure if he always will be because Alcatraz has changed us all beyond return. I think he's been affected most of all. To see all your principles and beliefs ripped out from under you can't be easy to cope with. The angry looks and whispered voices that have trailed in his wake for the whole of today won't make it any better.

As soon as the lights come up, there's an explosion to my left and I grab John by the arm, pulling him behind a large ice-covered rock. He's shivering, and I can hear the other four running off in different directions, can hear the crackling of Storm's lightning and the metallic clanks as things bounce off Colossus and a few screams. As we huddle behind the rock, there's a blast that just misses us and freezes a whole section of snowy trees in front of us. I stand up and peer over the rock, and there's a great big Ice monster thing looming towards us. I try and form a wall in front of it to slow it down whilst Colossus can maybe break it up, but the ice from me just seems to fuel. Casting my eyes around the Danger Room, I can see Kitty lying unconscious near some other rocks.

"John, you have to use your powers!" I practically yell at him, because the simulation is approaching us at some speed and all he's doing is sitting there, staring at the ceiling and looking terrified. I don't get any response, so I kick him. Hard. It seems to work. He stares up at me, and I realise that all he's seeing in his mind is Alcatraz, and it's got him scared shitless.

But because I'm looking down at him and not looking at the ice… _thing_.. in front of me, I'm not paying attention when it shoots a jet of ice at me. I just suddenly feel colder than usual, which is something that I've never expected to feel because I didn't think things got much colder than when you turned completely to ice. But I was wrong.

I fall to the ground in a cloud of snow, completely immobile, and all I can see is John staring at me. He's just staring, and I can feel the Thing approaching and I start to sweat. Storm explained to John that Danger Room sessions could still give you physical injuries, even if it was just a simulation. Why is he sitting there? He's going to get hurt. I don't think I could bear it if he were to get killed just because I wasn't paying attention.

From where I'm lying, I can see him clearly, and we're staring into each other's eyes like there's nothing else in the world. But John's eyes are burning red like I've never seen before, and as I watch he seems to almost move in slow motion, standing and turning in one graceful movement, his right hand outstretched, a seething mass of fire writhing in his palm, and with sudden flash it implodes. I stare at him in shock, wondering what the hell happened, but I don't have long to think when I realise what's happening around us.

The air around him is shimmering, almost like a halo of light rippling around him, pulsing in time with my own heartbeat. Then all of a sudden the aura of magic is sucked back into him with a whooshing noise. For a single second in time, the room is still and completely silent, and then with the force of a small bomb the roiling flames exploded out of his system in a shockingly bright ring of fire that hurtles through the air and thunders across the room.

Steam and soot fill the air, and I realise that I'm not frozen anymore. I can't see John for the smog-filled air, but I can _feel_ him, radiating more heat than I would have ever thought possible. It's almost as though he's found a switch inside himself and has only just now worked out how to use it. Maybe I won't have to teach him how to control himself, after all.

There's a gentle whooshing noise as Storm blows away the ash, clearing the air, and I stand up. John's still standing in the same position, hand outstretched, breathing hard, looking apocalyptic or like some avenging angel with flames flicking gently from his fingertips. I walk up to his still form and gently push his arm down. He's still staring at where the Thing had been before he obliterated it. I look at the others, and they're all alive and well (apart from Kitty who's sporting a nasty bruise on her left cheek) and staring at him like they've never seen him before. All except Storm, who just looks disturbingly satisfied. I have a nasty feeling that she set this up.

"Well done, John," She says benignly, and he flinches, suddenly brought back to reality. Wolverine regards him curiously as the Danger Room simulation disintegrates around us, and Kitty rubs her cheek in a disgruntled fashion. John looks around himself at the room, and I can see his features contract to see the damage that he's wrought upon the large room. Everything's charred.

"Yeah. Nice going, Pyro." Logan says gruffly.

I have to try so hard not to scream at him for that. I glance at John, and his eyes are dead again. They were bright and shining just an hour before but now they're dead and dull and it's Logan's fault because he was stupid enough to say the one thing that could send him back into Hell.

_Pyro_.

Just one word can do so much to one person.

"Thanks, John," I say, and he looks up at me instead of staring at the ground, which is blackened beneath our feet. He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then looks down at his hand where the lighter is strapped. I'm not sure if he wants to keep it, because it probably reminds him of Magneto. And I don't think that he wants to remember that too much, because every time someone mentions it he closes up and won't even talk to me for ten minutes. His first day back has hardly been easy for him.

I want… _need_… to talk to him about Magneto, but I don't want to break this fragile peace between us. Maybe I'll ask him in a few weeks, when I don't have to worry so much about the spark never lighting again. Because that's what happens when he closes up, that burning fire shrinks and takes a while to grow back, and one day I'm scared that it might go out and never come back.

I look around the room, and I'm slightly shocked to see that all the others have gone. I don't remember them leaving, but I'm glad that they did, because it reduces the risk of him going out. He's walking away from me, and for a moment I'm not sure why, but then I realise it's because he wants to get changed. So I follow him to the changing rooms, and he's having trouble getting out of the leather. He's not shaking this time though. He's just stiff. I think that the massive release of power has weakened him a bit.

I help him get out of the leather, and I wince at the vicious burn marks on his wrists as they're revealed. Burns from ice. He rubs at them unconsciously, and I wonder if he realises what he's doing. Or maybe the burning soothes him from time to time. He looks up at me once he's fully dressed and I'm out my suit, which is supple and well-worn because I've always been here and I've always been one of the X-Men.

And I'm startled by the look in his eyes, which is nothing like the one that I saw ten minutes ago – was it really that long? – when Logan called him 'Pyro'. They're bright, alive and full of fire, and I can't help but smile at him.

"I guess this means I'm an X-Men now," he says ruefully, and I'm aware of my face breaking into a grin. _This_ is my John, this is the John that I've missed so much and now he's back and it looks as though he's never going to go out. And it's as though nothing's ever change between us, between any of us because I have been waiting for this for so long.

Nothing really has changed. And I couldn't ask for more than that he keeps on burning.

Because as long as John keeps burning, I know I'll be all right.

He has that effect on me.

* * *

Like I said, _**final part**_, and this time I won't change my mind. But yeah... it was satisfying to write.

If you think I should move into the X-Men fandom on a more permanent basis, please let me know, because I'm not sure if I've got a good enough feel for the characters to go for a proper fic.

Comment very welcome and much appreciated.

Warmest regards,

smokey


End file.
